The Stranger
by louiseb
Summary: NOW COMPLETE Who is the strange man brought unconscious to the cells? A teenager from a primitive world comes face to face with the 23rd century. A new character and very different to my previous stories.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I own the story and the non Trek characters here but nothing else is mine. Sharing completely for free.**

_**I'm trying something a bit different with this one to stretch my writing muscles – a new voice/character and a new writing style. It's OOC and Gen with some hurt/comfort thrown in. And the Enterprise will feature… just be patient. **_

**-oOo-**

**The Stranger**

When they brought him in I assumed that he was dead.

I barely glanced across the cell to where he lay corpse-pale, his face a mask of blood. I'd seen enough dead bodies in recent times; one more was neither here nor there.

It was only when they chained him to the cot that I realised he still breathed and stirred, and I crept behind the crowd to take a look.

He was a stranger. That much I knew. That much we all knew. No-one recognised him.

Mind you, the state he was in, I reckon his own mother would have had trouble giving him a name. The hunting party had done him in good, had taken it in turns to show the spy who was alpha.

He wasn't just a stranger, he was strange - that's to say strange enough to turn some heads if he'd walked our city's streets (which, thanks to the hunters' fists, he was far from capable of doing).

The clothes he wore... I'd call them odd. At first sight you would have taken them for farmer's clothes, of a style from my childhood. Now that's not so very long ago, but the clothes were new; no patch, no darn, no fraying at the cuff.

And the fabric - the hunters ran it through their fingers and exclaimed it had no friction. It looked rough, like homespun, but the dust and dirt refused to stick, even though he'd been dragged through a lot of it; you could see that by the state of his skin.

He wore a belt with a heavy buckle, too expensive for the style of clothes. And his waistcoat... No farmer would have worn a waistcoat trimmed with fur, unless he'd robbed it from a merchant. It was as if someone had dressed him from their grandma's memory chest - all hotch potch and mixed up.

More strangeness. I heard them scoff he had no weapon. No weapon on a spy? That should have aroused their suspicions right from the get go. But they were too full of themselves, too proud of their victory to give it much thinking time.

They soon had most of those clothes off him, squabbling over who got what. There was almost a fight over the belt with its curiously fashioned buckle. Codon, the pack leader, won that battle, of course. Took it like a trophy and wore it with a swagger. Although we all knew at morning light he'd have it down the market to trade for food - times were hard, and even hunters were struggling to fill their bellies.

Then off they went, big voices and bigger egos. To see them you would think they'd held off an invading army, not taken one man in the wrong place at the wrong time and beaten him to a pulp.

When he woke up I was the only one remaining.

I was sweeping in the next cell; sweeping as best I could, given my broom had a broken handle and half its bristles missing. The last lot of prisoners had made a proper mess, with their bleeding, and vomiting, and worse.

It had been weeks since they'd replaced the straw, so it had done a poor job of soaking up the stink. The smell had got so bad even the chief had noticed. Arris had known my ma, so he took pity on me on occasion; gave me food if I did the odd job around sec-block.

So there I was half sweeping, half spreading muck and all gagging with the stench. I wasn't thinking about the stranger, flat out, bare chested and attracting flies. All my mind was filled with hunger and on how long I'd have to keep this up before I could ask for some stew scrapings to stop me keeling over... And that's when I heard him groan.

He obviously thought he'd broken something because that was the first thing he said.

"Bones..?"

I went over to look into his cell. His eyes were closed. He couldn't have opened them if he'd wanted to - not with his face all gunked up, his eyelids stuck down with the blood from the cut on his forehead. He had a couple of black eyes coming too. I could tell the swelling was only just getting started.

"Bones?"

He said it again, voice all croaky but the word was clear enough.

I looked at him, then at the door. It wouldn't do for one of the hunting party to see me confabbing with a prisoner. I'd done a good job of playing invisible up to this point. Got good at melting into the background. None of them could have picked me out in a crowd of one and I aimed to keep it that way.

But the pack of hunters had long gone, to their warm ale and warmer women. They thought he was out cold for the night. They hadn't reckoned on how strong he was. He wasn't a big man, not a broad shouldered ox like Arris. But I soon found out that looks can be deceiving.

I didn't say anything. But he knew I was there. Turned his head and winced when the pain hit. Didn't groan again though. Just the one groan.

"Bones? Is that you?"

So I knew he was delirious. Who talks to their bones? But there was something in his voice... He wasn't in a panic the way I would have been waking up like that, in pain, not knowing where I was. The voice was calm, just asking.

I made a decision. Didn't see how it could hurt to let him see where he was. So I went and got a bit of cloth and a noggin of water to wipe all that gunk off of his eyes. They hadn't bothered to lock the door, what with him being secured and out cold and all.

I tried to be gentle but I'm no healer. I could tell it hurt when I touched his face. In the end he grabbed the cloth and contrived to wipe his own eyes, even with his wrists chained to the cot. His hands weren't in a much better state than his face - reckon he'd given those hunters a good old fightback before they all piled in.

His eyes, when he opened them, were hazel. Like my ma. You don't see that colour much round here. Most people these parts got blue or green eyes. My ma wasn't from round here and I guess neither was he.

He looked at me, blinking, and I could see I'd been wrong, He wasn't delirious. Delirious people don't look at you like that, all analysing and assessing. It was like he looked straight into me and I didn't like it. But when he spoke his voice was gentle.

"Thank you."

Yes, I know, but that's what he said. No-one had said thank you to me in like... forever. It made me feel peculiar. Like I was suddenly a real person, not a shadow.

I stepped away, taking the water with me, saying nothing. Shadows disappear in the light. Shadows are safe. I figured the less I said the less chance I had of getting into trouble.

So I went back to my sweeping in the other cell. He didn't say anything more, but I kept my eye on him, and I could tell by the way his head was moving he was having a good look round, taking it all in.

When I'd finished, I piled the filthy straw into my barrow and went off to get some fresh from the yard between the sec-block and the ale house.

There was a right old set to going on. The guards were in a squatting circle, focused like a pack of worwolves. And in the middle, Yanis and Jax, two of the hunters - facing up to each other, nose to snivelling nose.

They'd all been drinking, I could see the smashed jug and smell the vapours, even above the stink from my barrow. The guards would be in a heap of trouble if the chief caught them drinking on duty. He doesn't allow liquor through the gates, and with good reason.

"I know what I saw," says Yanis, stubborn-like. "They was there, clear as day, right above me on the rocks."

Jax is all sneery and slurry. "So how come none of us saw them then, Mister 'I spy strangers'? How come there weren't no sign, not even a foot mark? You suggestin' they melted into the rock face? Maybe they was snow people those folks you saw." That got a laugh from the guards. We haven't had snow in years.

Yanis looks down then. Like he knows it made no sense. "I reckon witches took 'em," he mutters. "I heard the witches' spell - like a wind howlin', high and buzzy."

At the mention of witches there's an angry murmur goes round and the eyes turn skyward. There'd been a lot of talk about witches in recent months, what with the crops failing and the witchy weather; storms with no rain, winds like we'd never known and days when the sun never seemed fit enough to leave her bed.

And, in the night sky, that extra point of light. Each month it brightened. An omen said some. The witches, said others, a portent of their growing power.

"Anyways," Yanis continues, "You lot weren't looking at the rocks. You was looking at him."

He jerks his head back towards the cells and I know he is talking about the hazel-eyed stranger.

"Not just looking," boasts Jax. "We was stalking. And we got him good while he was grubbing in the dirt. The sneaking spy put up a fight though... Where was you, Yanis? Didn't you fancy risking that pretty face of yours? Is that why you set about fabricatin' fairy tales?"

Yanis lunges then and a proper one-on-one breaks out, the guards cheering them on like a couple of curs.

That was my chance. Quietly I tipped my heap of stink into the midden and went about lifting a new bale of straw into my barrow. They didn't pay me no mind. I'm nobody, aren't I? I like it that way.

When I came back he was trying to sit up, yanking on the chains round his wrists - but not in frustration, not like an animal trying to bust free. More like he was trying to test its strength, figure out the fastening. I knew he wouldn't get far. Those links were forged from the old-style ferrous. And he was tied round his legs too.

He stopped when he saw me. Then he did something that set me reeling, it was so... unexpected. He smiled.

Even through the gashes, and the swelling I saw it - it pulled me, tugged at me - it was quite something that smile.

"Hello."

Just like that. Just like we were meeting by the side of a sunny road, not in a stinking cell with blood on the floor and the threat of dark violence in the air.

I couldn't stop myself.

"Hello," I said, right back at him.

Then clapped my hand over my mouth. I'd just broken my own rule. Confabbing with the prisoner. If they caught me...

He tried to say something else but his voice was all croaky. I put up my hand to stop him. Any moment now someone would come through that door and hear us.

He needed water. I could tell that was what he was asking for. More to shut him up than for any other reason, I went to the pump, filled a nog and brought it back. He drank it down in one and, before he could say more, I went back to my task, spreading the clean straw through the cells.

I could tell he was watching me.

After a while I couldn't pretend there was any more straw to spread. That's when I should have left. I meant to leave. Meant to go find Chief Arris and beg for stew. My poor growling stomach thought my throat had been cut.

But I didn't leave. I collected the spilling slop bucket, and, as I passed, something drew me back to that cot. He was lying flat again, but he wasn't asleep. And his eyes were bright, brighter than they should have been. Maybe he had a fever. I wasn't going to touch him to find out.

When he spoke this time he kept his voice low. He'd picked up on my fear.

"Thank you for the water."

Two thank yous in one day. I didn't know how to react to that. So I just half nodded and began to turn away.

"Listen. I don't belong here."

No shit, I thought. Is there anyone who thinks they belong in sec-block? I've never met one.

He propped himself up on his elbows, his fastened wrists dragging and clinking. "Do you know what happened to my clothes? To my belt?"

I thought it an odd question. Did he think he was just going to get dressed and walk out of here? He had a shock to come. Not many spies walked out those doors. Most were carried out - horizontal. I cleared my throat, spoke gruff.

"Hunters took 'em. For trade."

He nodded slowly. Thinking. "Who's in charge here? Can you bring them? I need to... talk, to explain."

No, I thought, you really don't want to talk to Arris. Not this late, not ever really.

He saw me shaking my head and didn't push for more. He could probably tell I wasn't exactly a lynch pin in this establishment.

"What's your name, son?"

I just looked at him. He was doing it again. Lifting me from the shadows, making me real.

And the curious thing was I wanted to tell him. I wanted to give him my real name. This stranger who I hadn't known yesterday and who'd probably be dead tomorrow. But I didn't. Of course I didn't.

Only Arris knows my real name, my before name, and he's probably forgotten it. Not many people bother with the trouble of asking for a label. But, if they do, I tell them the same as I told him. I'm the only one who gets the joke but I take my smiles where I can.

"Marat," I muttered, one eye on the door.

"Well, Marat, my name's Jim."

Jim. I'd never heard the name but it fitted. Sounded strong and friendly. I tried it as a whisper on my tongue.

"So, Marat, you work here every day?"

And that's how it started.

I didn't say much at first but he wouldn't give up. He was stubborn with his questioning. And after a while I forgot the emptiness in my stomach and the stench in my nostrils. My voice felt rusty it had been so long since I talked.

I was still careful, mind you. He learned quick not to get too personal with the asking. But he had a way, he made you want to talk.

And so I found myself leaking words which spilled into sentences. And the sentences ran together and turned into a river of tales about the city, about the ruling families who promised so much and delivered so little, about the spies and thieves from down the valley. And most of all I rattled on about the weather, the dry storms, and how the little rain that fell smelt of ferrous and poisoned the withering crops.

He nodded gravely when he heard the tales, like he knew those misfortunes and understood them well. And, after a while, he reached out and touched my arm with blood stained fingers.

"Marat," he said, "What would you say if I told you I know a way to help your people? That's why I'm here. Because of the storms and the rain that poisons your fields." His voice grew stronger then, the voice of someone accustomed to command. "There's still time, Marat. But I need your help... And I need that belt."

I stopped talking then. Shut up tight as a trap and cursed myself for my loose tongue. I'd been blabbing to a witch. I just hadn't expected evil to look like him. But that was foolish. Did I really think they wore their witchy symbols on their sleeve and went round declaring themselves to the world?

He could see my fear, in my wide eyes and backwards steps. He tried to undo his words but I wasn't listening. I was out of sec-block like the hell fiends were chasing me, and it was only when I got back to my empty room I realised I'd forgotten to claim my stew.

-oOo-

_Feedback and thoughts much appreciated. _


	2. Chapter 2

_Warning: this section contains a very nasty character and attempted sexual abuse (but nothing explicit.)_

-oOo-

It was the stew that brought me back. At least, that's what I told myself the next morning, when I crept past the steaming midden in the chilly dawn. I was relying on Arris sticking to his word. He was straight like that – usually delivered on his promises whether that meant food or floggings.

I didn't have to look far. Could hear the shouting from across the yard, the chief's voice carrying clear with scorn, the humiliated murmur of the guard.

He'd tried to escape and he'd failed. That was the nub of it – and I felt the dawn's chill wind creep into my blood when I thought what that meant. Although why I should care what happened to a witch I hesitated to explain.

Perhaps it was because I'd had a lot of time to think in the dark, the stabbing hunger stopping any hope of sleep. And I'd begun to doubt my hasty branding of the stranger. I'd never heard tell of a witch who couldn't escape from prison cells and chains, or who talked of helping and of needing help. And I'd seen... something in his eyes. The word for what I felt was one I'd seldom heard and rarely used. That foreign word was trust.

I turned away from the main door and headed for the block. I had to see, had to know the worst.

The gate guard knew me, looked past me, waved me through with a yawn.

This time they'd locked the cell door, but I could see him clear enough through the bars. He was alive which I counted a blessing, and he was conscious, which for him was a curse. They had him off the cot and chained, stretched out to his fingertips against the wall.

The welts on his back were raw and fresh, the blood still running. But this wasn't a flogging from the chief. The wounds were too uneven; there was skin untouched. This was punishment from the guards and much worse was still to come. If I'd had any food in my stomach I would have retched it out right there on my clean straw.

He heard me gasp against the bars; tried to turn his head.

"Marat. Is that you?"

I nodded like a fool, then realised he could see only wall. "Yes, I'm here."

But before I could say more the door clanged open and the guard, fresh from his humiliation, was pushing me aside. Still smarting from the chief's harsh words, Telfor was planning more violence – that was clear from the glower in his eyes and the crop in his hand. And, as he wrestled with his keys, I cast my mind about in desperation for a distraction.

I saw it in the slop bucket I'd left forgotten in my flight the night before. Telfor was so intent, so determined for revenge, he failed to notice the nudge I gave to place the bucket in his path.

The results were more than I'd dared hope. But, sprawling in the muck, he was quick to blame and I paid the price for leaving the shadows' safety. He found his feet and, in fury, he laid about me with his crop.

It was only the very wildness of the beating that saved me from oblivion; his blows unfocused in their violence. But it was enough to drive me weeping to the corner, my clothing torn, my stinging hands all useless in defence.

The voice that made him pause his blows came from the cell. The still-chained prisoner called him coward, and once again I heard a tone well-used to command.

But, as Telfor turned to deal with the spy's impertinence, the door banged open and there stood Arris. He blocked the light and stood in terrifying silence.

He took the scene in with a glance and halted Telfor's whining explanation with a glare. We all seemed frozen, then he filled the room.

"You, Telfor – unchain the prisoner and wash him down. The Examiner's on his way and he hates the cell block stench. We need him ready for interrogation so spare the crop." He let his gaze drift downwards, saw the empty bucket and gave a sniff. "And wash yourself while you're about it – you stink."

His eyes then fell on me, and his look was not unkind. "You, Marat, come with me."

I followed blindly, my mind racing with what I'd heard. As we crossed the yard, the darkening sky and cutting wind seemed a reflection of my thoughts. Yesterday I cared for no-one and no-one cared for me. Today I felt real fear for a man I hardly knew.

-oOo-

The stew Arris put before me was more than my usual meagre plateful and I gulped it down like a starving cur. But, even as I filled my belly, I wondered when the stranger had last had food.

It was new to me, this thinking of another, and I didn't welcome it; would have preferred my usual introspection. Before my mother's death I reckon my heart was the same as other folk. But grief had killed that part of me as surely as the fever had robbed her of her life.

Now I felt an echo of that former world, and it seemed to me a weakness in my armour.

As Arris stoked the fire, he grumbled discipline was slipping with every reduction of the ration; that he didn't trust the guards to follow orders. He talked about the festival to come and the rumours that, unless supplies increased, he feared a new rebellion on that day. I thought back to the liquor in the courtyard and I felt his instincts tallied with the truth. But, as usual, I said nothing, just licked my bowl.

I never could quite figure how Arris ended up Chief of Sec. He had respect, no doubt of that. Even the hunters respected Arris. Even the Examiner paid him heed. Somehow he'd survived, even when, as harvests failed, the city changed allegiance from one ruling family to another. The streets ran red that month but he survived. He knew how to play the game. But I never got the feeling his heart was in the endless scheming. He did what he had to, no more.

Except sometimes he did do more. Like feed a shadow in memory of a woman he had loved but who had never loved him back. He didn't have to do that but he did.

And now the Examiner was on his way and I could tell the visit had put Arris in a black mood. He left me, still scraping at my bowl, to swear at the guards and check supplies.

I knew what lay ahead for the man in sec-block, and I filled my scrabbling brain with thoughts for his escape, but nothing useful came to mind. The fire was warm and, with my belly full, I fear I dozed and dreamed beneath the desk.

-oOo-

It was the door that woke me, banging wide and letting in a gale that lifted papers. The threatened storm had arrived, along with our Examiner. I prayed to stay invisible in my niche and heard his voice loud against the wind and complaining to the chief.

"Now surely, Arris, your guards should have beaten the truth from him by now."

I shivered as I watched his pacing legs, as I eyed the clinking bag he placed beside the desk. I knew what was in that bag; I'd seen, I'd heard the victims of that bag. Its owner was not a patient man.

"We need to know, is Hulmar planning further raids? We've heard their citizens are even hungrier than ours."

Chief Arris explained the man had been unconscious, and then described the stranger spy's bid for freedom. I thought I heard some admiration in his words.

"I'm not convinced he is from Hulmar. He doesn't have their look or craven manner. He's proud this one. The guards tell me he stayed silent even through the worst – it would have gone better for him if he'd begged."

"From Meltor then? That's quite a distance. He must have found allies on the journey."

But as they talked, their voices faded to a hum. For what I heard seemed as nothing to what I saw. And what I saw told me where the Examiner had spent his morning. He'd been to market. And now, beneath his cloak, his thumbs were pressed with pride to display his new belt to its best advantage. A belt with a buckle that I recognised.

I must have made a sound, or moved a limb, because, before I'd had a chance to think or plan, a firm hand grasped me round the ankle and pulled me from my hole.

"What have we here, Arris? You know we don't allow pets in sec-block..." If there's an opposite of joy, I heard it in that laugh. And saw it in the narrowed eyed appraisal, as if I were his next purchase on the market stall.

I'd never been this close to the Examiner, close enough to see the dead blackness of his pupils. Close enough to see the livid scars across his face, his mouth. There were plenty of stories around about how he'd got those scars; rumour was he'd started the more unpleasant ones himself.

Arris forced a chuckle. "Ah, Marat. You still here, boy? I thought I told you to go home." As I scrambled to my feet, he laid a protective hand on my shoulder and pulled me behind him. "Most of our visitors are only too anxious to get out of here. But for some reason our young barrow boy seems keen to stay behind bars." He turned and winked a warning. "Off you go now, lad. I won't tell you again"

The Examiner smiled but his eyes were ice.

"Oh, don't be hasty. The boy can stay if he wants. Perhaps he wants to watch a master craftsman at work." He nudged his bag of pain with a boot and a suggestive smile. "I could be looking for an apprentice."

I refused to meet his gaze, but I felt his finger stroke my cheek. Arris shrugged and pulled the man's attention to the papers on the desk. Now trapped, I huddled in the furthest corner of the room. But I felt that finger's lingering touch, as if it had left a scar across my face.

-oOo-

I hoped to be forgotten and I got my hope. Arris produced a flask, offered liquor before the task ahead. Then he clapped his arm around the Examiner's shoulders and took the man, with belt and bag, off to sec-block. And, as he left, he looked back and gave me a small jerk of his head which meant get out.

I knew I should obey that warning. My limbs were cramped and my back on fire from Telfor's crop. But my mind – well, my mind was settled, cool and calm, and the path ahead lay clear.

I'm no-one, I'm a shadow. People hide secrets in shadows; but they forget to hide them from shadows. And so I knew where to find the hidden drawer, and I knew how to open it and take out what I needed.

It took just moments to set the fire; to lay the embers, firewood and the scattered papers from hearth to door. Yet it seemed an age before the flames took hold. At last, I made my exit to the yard, coughing smoke.

"Fire!"

My thin voice vanished in the howling wind. No-one heard. I had to rouse the gate guard and point with shaking finger at the black haze rising from the door. Then he did the job, bellowing the alarm across the yard and ringing the bell we used to warn of raids.

Arris led the charge from sec-block and, as I'd hoped, the guards all followed. But no Examiner.

With a sudden chill of certainty I realised – he'd already settled to his task. I'd heard no screams, but cold terror made me run, down past the last of the ascending guards.

My sight adjusting to the gloom, I froze; then hugged the wall, my plans dissolving in the face of what I saw – the stranger chained, the brazier lit, the glowing instruments of pain. I'd arrived in time but only just.

The Examiner sat and stirred the glowing coals. And, as the walls brightened, his face of scars became a mask of fire. My dark corner offered no protection.

He moved his mouth in imitation of a smile. "Ah, we have a visitor. It's Marat, isn't it?" I heard the rattle of the chain as the prisoner flinched to hear my name. "So, you couldn't stay away. Come closer, boy. You can't see from there."

But my feet retreated. My instinct was to draw him away, from the fire, from the prisoner.

He frowned and stood. Moved slowly like a predator.

"Now, boy, you have a lot to learn." His voice was silky dark with threat. "You'll find me an understanding teacher. But you must obey."

He looked around the empty cells and I recognised what crossed his face. I was still young, but I'd lived a city life alone. I knew a look of lust when I saw it.

"Perhaps we should start your first lesson by getting to know each other. Eh, Marat?"

That's when the seed of an idea began to sprout. As he advanced, I backed against the bars and slumped – reached out my fingers as if in prayer.

He smirked and closed the gap; close enough for me to smell the cloying scent he used to kill the stench of blood upon his clothes. I looked up, and let my face show mute entreaty.

"Well now, I can tell you're a fast learner, boy."

He was eager now. His hands upon my head pushed down, his fingers in my hair. I reached again and felt the buckle of his belt.

"Good boy," he breathed. Slowly, slowly I pulled the belt clear, snaking leather around the snake like man.

His breathing quickened. Then, just as I had the buckled weight in my grasp, he grabbed my clothes and ripped apart my shirt.

I gasped in pain, he gasped in shock - staggered back in disbelief, and I had my chance. I stood and swung the belt with all the force I could gather. The heavy buckle caught him full whack across his temple.

He yelled in anger, then clutched his head in pain and stepped backwards, swaying. Blind with rage and fear, I swung the belt again, again. He retreated step by step across the cell, then tripped on his own bag beside the brazier and fell backwards. The prisoner wasted no time. He swung his legs to trap the falling man then wrapped his chains around his neck.

In seconds the Examiner lay unconscious on the floor. I turned away and gathered my ripped clothing as best I could. What had I done? I'd never find a hiding place beyond his reach. I knew then I had made a choice; my life before had vanished in a blink and all ahead was darkness.

"Marat...are you hurt?"

"No, Jim." I turned towards him with my hands outstretched.

And despite his chains, despite his wounds, that smile was back and broader than before. For in one hand I held the belt. And in the other, I held the dangling keys.

-oOo-

_If you've made it this far it would be great to hear from you. (If you prefer classic Trek fanfiction you may find my other stories much more to your taste. This is an experiment.)_


	3. Chapter 3

_Thank you for the kind reviews. It worked. _

-oOo-

When I was younger the storms were few and far between and we brought the harvest twice a year. The people and the weather seemed much kinder then, the warming sun, the gentle rain.

I can't remember when it changed. Or perhaps I can... I drowned in grief as skies grew dry, so that would place it three summers back.

And now we cursed the storms that darkened skies and brought not rain but scouring, grit-filled winds.

But this storm proved a blessing. The wind-swept streets were exactly that, swept clean of people by the biting wind. We raced unnoticed through the city, a ragged boy and a hooded stranger in a stolen cloak.

I listened for pursuit. The raid bell clanged, but everyone was calling fire - no shouts of "Prisoner escaped!" or "Stop the boy!" (Which boy? You know the one, he lived in shadows. I forget his name, I cannot quite recall his face, his voice. He never spoke. I think his mother died. You must know the one I mean.)

And soon the raid bell faded and we reached the open gates and joined the market traders and the weary farmers returning to their fields with empty carts. Two more plodding figures in a plodding line, heads bent against the dusty wind.

-oOo-

The storm still howled. I marvelled at him keeping pace. My own back ached. But as for him... my hands were clenched in sympathy for the roughness of that cloak against his shattered skin. At first he gave no sign. But, as the road climbed, I saw his steps begin to slow.

He needed rest. I knew a place, above the bending trees. A place where as a child I'd often come to play. Where once there'd been a waterfall - but now the rocks were dry, and there could be shelter. I held his arm and pulled him from the path.

He said nothing as we climbed but his face beneath the hood was grim. And when we reached the shadowed cave he did something strange. He took the belt and laid it in a line upon the rocks, then crawled in and curled up like a child and slept. I watched him, wondering. Then I slept too.

-oOo-

When I awoke he was watching me. Analysing and appraising and puzzling, like he had the first time when he opened his eyes. This time I didn't mind.

The cave was quiet. Quiet enough to hear water dripping and a low whistle from the dying wind.

I stirred, and caught my breath, then hissed - my clothes had stuck to the wounds left by Telfor's beating. He saw and frowned.

"I found water," he said. "These rocks are wet. Here... " He'd ripped the lining from the Examiner's cloak and now he offered a soaking piece of cloth. I crammed it in my mouth and sucked it dry. He looked amused.

"I meant, you need to soak those cuts. Here let me help." He rewet the cloth and moved as if to lift my ragged shirt aside. But I was too fast for him. Clutching at my chest, I spun away to the other side of the cave and lay there panting.

"Leave me be!"

His eyes narrowed. "I won't hurt you, Marat. How could you think I'd hurt you?" He stretched out his hand as if to gentle a frightened animal. "You saved me, I owe you my life."

But I spoke in panic. "Don't touch me..."

And then I saw his gaze travel down, to my clutching hands, to the barely held together rags. I saw the shock, and then a dawning recognition in his eyes; remembering and making sense of what he'd seen.

He spoke slowly. "Were you ever going to tell me?"

I shook my head. I looked for shadows. But deep down I knew - the hiding was over.

Then he asked one more question.

"What's your name, your real name?"

And this time I couldn't stop myself. This time I told him.

"Marta."

-oOo-

It wasn't hard to become a boy. I'd never been one for wearing skirts. Even when my mother lived and laughed she'd teased me that the healer had been mistaken when she told her she'd given birth to a daughter.

From the moment I could walk I chased the boys. I cried to join their games and chafed whenever kept inside. And later, on the farm, I chose the heavy outside work, the wood chopping and the ploughing. Girls' tasks bored me.

And who would be a girl alone? To face the hunters, the city guards, the militia. Even girls with families dared not walk alone. And since the fever struck I had no family.

It wasn't hard to chop my hair, to cover up, to leave behind the few who knew the truth and join the faceless crowds within the city. Only Arris knew who I really was. Arris who'd tried to help me in his grudging way in memory of my ma. Arris, and now the stranger spy. No longer a stranger. A man called Jim, who stared at me dumbfounded, as if I'd shifted shape - which I suppose, for him, I had.

"Marta." His voice was gentle. I liked how my name sounded on his tongue. "Marta, you're quite something. You never stop surprising me. And I've had a good few surprises on my travels. Are there many others like you on your pl... in your city?"

I looked at him and shook my head and when he laughed I joined him. The cave echoed with our laughter. It felt so good that for a moment I forgot where we were, how hopeless was our situation.

We left the cave to look down at the darkened plain. We had no fire, no food, no plan. I feared a trail of burning torches in pursuit but the road was black and quiet with the call of night birds hunting. I prayed they were the only ones out hunting that night.

My feet stepped on the outstretched belt, and I asked the question with my eyes. It was clear he'd laid the belt out as a sign, but a sign to who? Even a dozen paces away I knew it was invisible.

"My friends will come, Marta." He smiled at my raised eyebrows. "It's hard to explain but I promise they will come. I think the storm delayed their... journey."

It made no sense. Yet he sat and looked up at the stars with calm certainty and his calmness soothed me. I sat beside him, and hugged my knees. And following his gaze, I pointed.

"That star grows brighter every night. I've never seen it quite this clear."

"It's not a star. It's called a comet, Marta; a comet of a size and type we've seldom seen. And you can blame it for your current problems."

For just a moment my fears resurfaced and I looked at him wide eyed. He talked of omens in our skies as if they held no mystery, were commonplace and understood. Who was this man with hazel eyes?

But then he talked and smoothed away my fears. He took a stick and drew patterns in the dirt. He talked of stars and how our sun was one. He talked of distances too far to run, too far to see, so far a lifetime's journey would not reach the end. And he talked about the ball of icy rock he called a comet and its tail of dusty poison that had dried our skies and brought the storms.

Then he talked about his ship, a ship that sailed the stars. His face was like a man long parched who dreamed of water. And, for the first time since we met, I saw a man in pain.

He said these things as straight as any other facts I knew, that fire burned, that water wet, that people lived and died. And because he said it simple, it was simple to believe him. Though, if you'd asked me, I doubt I could explain exactly why my mind accepted what he said was true.

And then I heard it. High and buzzy, musical and metal, like no sound I'd ever heard. I stood and grasped his arm and made to pull him to the safety of the cave. But he heard it too and instead of fear upon his face, I saw joy.

-oOo-


	4. Chapter 4

-oOo-

When I turned my head they were there, just there upon the rocks where they hadn't been before. Four men in festival colours, in clothes so strange at first I gaped and stared. But when they moved towards us I hid my eyes as if, by hiding them from sight, I could be hidden.

"Jim!"

"Captain!"

They reached each other, rejoicing. And, as he greeted them, his voice shook with strain released. Then I heard him grunt. "Gently, gentlemen, if you don't mind."

Peeking between spread fingers, I saw the man in blue move quickly to lift aside the cloak. And I heard him gasp in horror at the wounded skin beneath and I guessed he was a healer.

"Who did this to you?"

"I had a run in with local law enforcement. Their methods are a little... crude."

The man was angry and he waved his hand across his friend creating waves of that metallic noise. Then he cast his spell - a stream of words that made no sense. "Class four wounds with signs of some infection. Dehydration, low blood sugar, shock - and fatigue and pain that's off my scale."

The other spoke. "Captain... Jim, you must return to the ship for treatment."

They cared for him, and he for them, I could hear it in their voices. And a blinding wave of hate and jealousy rose bitter in my throat and swamped my thoughts.

Yes, I hated them. I saw it clear. I saw it as if it had already happened. I knew he would go, would leave with them, and I would stay and retreat back to my lonely shadows.

I turned away, and bit my lip to stop the tears. But he saw me move and blocked my path.

"Leave it, Bones. I'm fine. But there's someone here you need to take a look at. She's hurt and she can't be more than 15."

"She..?"

He smiled. "Yes, this is Marta. And without her I'd be facing far worse than a few cuts and bruises and some hunger pangs. She's got enough courage to take on a fleet of Klingon battle cruisers."

His words were strange, I did not know their meaning. I shrank away as the healer moved towards me with his witchy spells.

Jim was there, beside me, his hand on my arm. "Don't be scared. This man's a friend. He'll help you, Marta. He has medicine. From my ship, remember?"

But then the other one in blue approached me with a frown, and when I saw his face I started shaking. His skin, his hair, his ears - this was no man, this surely was a fiend from hell. That's when the screaming started, and I listened, and I heard the screams were mine. The healer looked at Jim who nodded, then I felt a pressure on my arm, a hiss of air and then I felt no more.

-oOo-

I woke within my mother's arms. I almost wept to feel so warm and well. She wrapped me tight and held me safe, and I realised all those years of grief and hunger had been nothing but a dream. I told of her of my dream, how lost I'd been, how much I'd missed her. And I heard her whisper, laughing, in my ear.

"Oh, Marta. What are we going to do with you?"

I smiled and reached with eyes tight shut, reached up to stroke her cheek. And then I knew..

The words were right, but the voice was wrong. The air smelt wrong - empty of life, all dry and sharp and clean. And when I forced my eyes to open I saw not my ma, but my stranger spy. And he seemed once more a stranger with his face now healed, and his cloak replaced by clothes of gold.

His look was all compassion but I turned my head to hide the sudden tears.

"Marta, it's okay. You can cry. God knows you've more than enough reason. Are you in pain?"

I shook my head. In truth my body had never felt so well. But my mind was full of screaming loss and I would not speak. Just closed my eyes against this world I could not understand.

The voices came and went. They talked about a fleet of stars, of "planet" and of war and famine, and they argued most about a "prime directive".

Jim's voice was strong, "It wouldn't be the first time... there's precedent." And a deep cool voice used words like "interference" and "unorthodox". And still I kept my eyes tight shut and drifted in a sea of dreams and sorrow.

But I could not drift forever, and there came a time when all was quiet and I opened my eyes to an empty room. And what a room. So bright it hurt my eyes, the lines so sharp, the colours hard and unlike any I had seen before. And the cloth beneath my fingers, so smooth. And the noises I'd been hearing all along - like birds that chirped one note and a drum that beat beneath the water.

I sat up and the healer man in blue came running to the doorway and he smiled.

"Glory be, she's back with us." And he talked to the wall. "Jim, you've got to get down here."

And the wall sent whispers, and the unseen servants opened doors and he came running through, and he smiled. And, just like the first time in the cell, it tugged at me and I smiled back. And I knew, despite the strangeness, I was safe.

-oOo-

_Thank you for the feedback everyone. Great to know this is working, at least for some of you. I had my doubts. _


	5. Chapter 5

He had a plan. Of course he had a plan. I hated the beginning of this plan.

"Marta, you can't stay here. You don't belong here. This isn't your world."

I looked around at this place with no sky, no outside air, at stabbing light and glinting metal and hard curves and I knew he was right. But I clutched his hand and begged. "Don't send me back."

"We won't send you back to how it was before. We've changed things, Marta. Remember the comet? Remember the poison in your skies? It's gone. We changed the comet's course. In just a few days, your sun will shine, the rain will start to fall and your crops will grow - no more hunger."

He made it sound so simple that they'd changed the stars.

And the man he called Spock, the man I'd mistaken for a fiend, spoke gently in his cool, deep voice.

"And, in the meantime, while you're waiting for the harvest, we can beam... we can provide hidden stocks of food to replenish your supplies. We will send new seeds we have modified, adapted from your fields. Your harvests will be multiplied. I estimate a productivity increase of four hundred..." Jim raised an eyebrow at his words "...a fourfold increase."

I could be jealous of this man who Jim called friend. They looked at each other with such calm affection. But he'd been kind to me – and, anyway, my mind was too full of dark thoughts about the future to leave room for jealousy.

"But the ruling families, the Examiner, the guards - they'll still be there."

Jim nodded. "We've had some thoughts about that too. But you'll need an ally. Someone with a bit of intelligence, someone they'll listen to and who'll listen to you. It's all about power in the right hands. Can you think of anyone, Marta? Someone you might trust?"

I hesitated but the answer was obvious, at least to me.

Arris. It had to be Arris. Did I trust him? Strangely, on his own terms, yes I did. I'd never known him lie, or cheat, or steal. He was unforgiving and he was harsh, but despite the floggings and the discipline I'd never seen him lose control, and I wouldn't call him cruel.

Jim raised an eyebrow when he heard the name. "Well, if you're sure, we'll talk to Arris." His voice grew hard. He hadn't forgotten those cells, the chains. "And we'll make sure that he listens."

Then they asked me questions about the before time. So many questions. And as I talked I remembered what I'd buried in the darkened soil of grief; remembered that there was a time before. A time when our cities and our farms had open gates and our people open arms to welcome visitors. It seemed a place as strange, as unreal as these rooms of tasteless air.

He saw my doubts, he knew my fear and he held my arm as if he could give me strength of will by simple touch.

"I know you've thought all this is magic, Marta. But you've seen enough to know we're only men and women. We're just a few miles further down the road of knowledge. And you'll get there, you'll catch us up, maybe you'll even overtake us one day. We're not supposed to interfere, but right now I think you need a little help."

Then they showed me the bracelet I would wear; described the plan and how I'd pull the city to my side. And Jim was so sure, so firm of purpose, I believed in him. And, for the first time since my mother died, I allowed myself to think about the future.

-oOo-

I almost laughed to see his face. I'd never seen Arris lost for words. He looked at the man he'd last seen in chains, now standing tall before his desk, strong and stern faced and waiting for an answer. And he sank into his chair and rubbed his eyes as if by rubbing he could clear this fog of questions.

I'll give him this - he showed no fear, not even when they gave him evidence of power he did not, could not understand. And he listened carefully when they talked of peace between the cities, and of sharing seeds and what we knew. He was old enough to remember a time when our cities traded goods not insults, when our visitors were merchants and scholars not spies and thieves, and he grew thoughtful.

He said, "But..." and he asked "How...?" and then he pondered long and wanted still more answers.

And then he threw his hands up, and he looked at me and smiled and said, "It could work. Yes, I'll do it."

-oOo-

For as many years as I could remember the festival had centered on the Bowl - a hollowed dusty space, outside the city walls. Not even the oldest greybeard could remember who had built the tiers of seats, the sweeping aisles, the stage. But twice a year the city gathered there to celebrate the harvest and to listen to our rulers.

Since harvests failed the festival had changed its mood; become an angry gathering of hate directed at our neighbours and at anyone the ruling family thought a threat. They used the festival to sow suspicion, to divide and distract their starving city from thoughts of change.

As the day approached, Arris spent his time scribbling and sending message upon message. And, between the missives, he pulled one guard and then another into the gatehouse which had become his new office. I wondered why he did not address them as a troop, but I trusted to his instincts; they had served him well so far.

I spent the time in practice of my part and in hiding; kept out of sight because there was a price upon my head. Although, in truth, I doubted anyone would recognise me in my new clothes. The boy Marat had vanished in the smoke that still scented sec-block. I was Marta now, Marta who wore a new grey gown with matching hood and heavy silver bracelet.

The evening of the festival brought clear and starlit skies and a warming breeze that ruffled hair and lifted moods. The weather had begun to change, and the streets were full of chattering crowds rejoicing at the absent storms.

When the time came, I pulled up my hood to shield my face from sight and bowed my head to follow Arris's firm stride through the streets by his boots alone. And, as we drew near the Bowl, I could hear the growing, beating roar of a crowd compressed, and the churning coldness in my belly reminded me of what was to come.

The drums had already started, and the multitudes were dutifully lifting fists and chanting the familiar slogans. But the platform was still empty as they waited for the rulers who would spike the air with words of poison and raise them to a frenzy.

Arris guided me through the crowd and down the tiers of steps until I saw the stage ahead.

"Wait here," he hissed, then pushed his way through angry bodies towards the open gate, one of four through which the latecomers still poured.

From beneath my hood I scanned the shouting faces and wondered if it was fact or my imagination that the slogans sounded less heartfelt and more hollow than was usual. The change in weather seemed to have blunted their enthusiasm. Some paused to chat between the chants, and I thought I saw some smiles among the frowns.

Somewhere in that throng was the man I still thought of as my stranger spy, once again disguised and, thanks to my advice, more likely to melt into the crowd than on his first ill fated visit. I could not see him and I felt the sudden chill of loneliness descend.

But the chill became a shard of ice when I caught a whiff of cloying scent, then heard the voice and felt the grip of iron on my arm.

"Well, look who's here. Our young arsonist. And in a dress - did something happen to your clothes?" The eyes were as merciless as I remembered and the smile as mirthless and deformed by scars. I felt a sickness in my throat and tried to jerk my arm away, but he pulled me close and whispered in my ear.

"Oh no, this time you'll not escape. You'll come with me. We need to have a little chat - alone." His breath upon my cheek was as a breeze across a newly opened grave. "I have some questions and I have means of finding answers. But then you know that, Marat. Or whatever you call yourself now."

My heart beat louder than the pounding drums. I could not scream, for who was there to hear? Could not beg for help or fight his strength as he dragged me back towards the waiting guards. The crowd made way and dropped their eyes; no-one wished to catch this man's attention.

And, as I felt despair descend, a wildness made me clench my fists. I would not go without a fight. I would not become invisible again; not when I'd seen a world of wonders, not when I'd glimpsed a future free from fear.

But as I prepared to strike, the grip upon my arm slackened and let go. The Examiner's face went blank and he sank down to his knees. And, as he fell, he revealed a hooded yet familiar frowning figure, with his fingers resting on a point between my captor's shoulder and his neck. Then Jim stepped up beside his friend and caught the falling man and dragged him down behind the seats unseen.

I heard a roar. The ruling family had arrived. The drums beat in my ears so loud I thought I'd faint and stumbled until he caught my hands.

"I can't..."

His fingers underneath my chin were gentle as they tilted my face to meet his gaze. "Yes, Marta, you can. I know you can."

I looked into those hazel eyes and the crowd's roar stilled inside my head. When he'd told his friends that I had courage I'd dismissed it. I'd seen too much I could not change; spent too long hiding from the pain I saw without and felt within. But now I saw that he believed it true and my inner landscape shifted, and its shadows disappeared in light.

I stood a little straighter and I nodded. He nodded back, just one sharp nod, and that smile was there behind his eyes.

Then he twisted the bracelet on my wrist and I knew that it was time.

-oOo-


	6. Chapter 6

_It feels appropriate that I post the final chapter of this on the night I return from Destination Star Trek London. Thank you, Bill, for signing my stories – it made my birthday._

-oOo-

It was night of strangeness. But the strangest thing was that afterwards I had no memory of how I found myself upon the stage. No memory of how, beside me, Arris raised his arms and stilled the drums and brought a restless quiet to the shouting crowd.

And it was only later that I learned that, as the ruling family waited to take their place upon the stage, the guards had blocked their way and ignored their fury. And how Arris had caught the attention of the crowd and spoken of change and better times and lies that had been told.

_The memories begin as pictures - of Jim's face in the crowd, his eyes fixed on mine as if he can transfer his strength by sight alone. Of the lines of puzzled frowning faces. Of one small child, his fingers resting on the stage as his mouth drops open and he points up at my gown. And the pictures begin to move with the glow that rises slowly up from the hem of my dress until I stand all bathed in light._

_The murmur starts at the rows in front and travels backwards as a wave. And then, as I throw back my hood, the crowd hushes to silence and I open my mouth and begin to speak._

The words I said were simple. I talked of what I'd seen in sec-block and of injustice. I talked of those who gave their lives and of those who went unpunished. And I talked about the point of light. I blamed it for our storms and all eyes turned skyward. And I saw Jim raise the hinged box to his lips all poised to send the message as we'd planned.

But as I talked and watched the faces change from puzzlement to wonder, it dawned on me our plan was flawed.

I heard the echo of a voice explaining we needed power in the right hands, and I knew those hands could not be mine alone. They'd worship me. I'd be another ruler but one with magic, and I feared what that would mean to them, to me.

The bracelet glowed. I knew we didn't have much time, and I looked at Jim and shook my head. He stepped towards the stage, his face concerned, but I raised my hand and stopped him with a smile. I talked more loudly now and called upon the crowd to raise their hands. And Arris came up by my side. He saw my meaning and he added his strong voice to mine. He spoke of what we could do together, then grasped my hand and lifted it aloft.

We called upon the wisdom of the crowd who raised their fingers up and pointed at the sky. We called on them to shout they wanted change, and we called on them to feel their growing power. And I saw Jim nod and smile and step back into the shadows as we began the downward count and focused on that glowing point of light.

And promises were kept - the blaze of the exploding comet lit a thousand faces who gasped as one, and laughter filled the air which had been thick with hate.

And that's when, from the four sides of the Bowl, we heard the shouts of joy - at each gate stood a wagon load of food and grain and each bore the name of our neighbours. And I knew that in Hulmar and in Meltor and in the other cities they had found the same from us.

And as the food was shared and families fed, I saw our former rulers slink away unnoticed and forgotten, and I knew the future could begin.

-oOo-

We'd closed the cells of sec-block so we had nowhere now to keep him. He'd lost the power of speech. Those vicious eyes were blank and dull and he dribbled from his face of scars as the healer fed his soup.

Jim turned to Spock and complained, "This wasn't what we planned. I thought we'd agreed you were going to give him an idea of what his victims went through - a little light empathy."

Spock looked unhappy. "That was the plan. But his mind was weaker than I'd anticipated. I started the meld by showing him the insignificance of his place in our universe, just a brief glimpse of time and space. And his mind crawled away from mine and hid. I have been unable to restore it."

Jim sighed. "Well, we can't leave him here like this. He belongs in a penal colony but I suppose we have no choice. We'll have to get him to Tantalus V. Make the arrangements."

He stared down at the empty shell that had been a man and his face was grim.

"Let's hope we can drop him off at the nearest Star Base for transfer. I don't want him on the _Enterprise _a moment longer than necessary."

Then he turned and asked me to walk with him and I knew it was time to say farewell.

-oOo-

We walked in silence to the creek beside the healer's house, now full of water, and already I could see the shoots of green upon the bank.

His face was thoughtful as he touched my hand and briefly placed his finger on my cheek.

"I have a son about the same age as you, Marta. Maybe a little younger." He stopped my questions with a shake of his head. "He's with his mother, and she doesn't want me near. I've only seen him once and when I think of him it makes me sad.

But I've never had a daughter... until now. And to leave you, after everything you've done, well, that makes me even sadder. I see a lot of brave people in this job but I doubt I'll meet a braver one than you." He squeezed my hand. "I'll miss you, Marta."

And, at that moment, I became Marat again, the shadow boy who said nothing and was nobody. I had so many words to say but I left them aching in my throat unsaid. I longed to hide in his shadow, close and warm, and let the buzzy wind take me back to his ship and lose myself among the stars he loved. Instead I left my tears upon his shoulder and hugged him close and said not a word of goodbye.

And, with one last smile, he turned and walked away, and I heard him vanish in that shimmer of metallic music.

-oOo-

And now I have a daughter of my own and I tell her tales of ships that sail the stars. She listens to my stories with wide eyes and asks questions I can't answer. She goes to school and learns with scholars from afar; knows more than me about so many things. She has no fear, and the only time she hides in shadows is for a game to make me jump and laugh.

And sometimes, when I walk alone at night, I watch the stars and I think I see a moving point of light. And I think I hear a wind that sounds of music and a laugh that echoes in my head and I keep watch for a stranger.

He's not come back. Not yet.

FIN

_I wrote this a while ago but I know from traffic stats a trickle of people are still reading. I've just re-discovered a short prologue to this in Spock's voice which I decided not to include. If you are kind enough to review this story, I'll send it to you via PM (sorry guests, that means you have to log on or send me an email via PM)._


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